


Antonia

by ElliottRook



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Author uses Gabriel as a punching bag, Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Inspired by Anastasia (1997 & Broadway), Minor Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Multi, Not Britpicked, She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Slow Burn, but then they're not really British here, not historically accurate, unbeta'd: we fall like Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29182713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElliottRook/pseuds/ElliottRook
Summary: In which Crowley is the lost last princess of Russia, and former holy man Gabriel is out for her blood.After amnesiac "Tanya" comes of age in a Russian orphanage, she sets out for Paris with the help of Newton Pulsifer, former palace kitchen boy turned passport forger, and Baron Aziraphale Fell, who lost his rank in the revolution. The two believe she might be the missing granddaughter of Dowager Empress Agnes, now settled in Paris.Trying to thwart them every step of the way is Gabriel, spurned by the royal family, now trapped in limbo, thirsting for escape that he can only get if the last of the Crowley line—Antonia—is dead.
Relationships: Aziraphale (Good Omens) & Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	1. St. Petersberg, 1917

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I just see an indomitable redhead overcoming apocalyptic situations and my brain goes "...but what if Crowley?"
> 
> This is based solely on the animated movie, with maybe a few historical tidbits thrown in, but if you are looking for a deeply-researched Russian historical epic by a history professor...this ain't it. This is purely for fun. If you love the movie as much as I do I hope you'll like it.
> 
> Crowley and Aziraphale are no less nonbinary here for their presentations, or pronouns, or any other reason, therefore their relationship is not any less queer for the shape of their bodies. They're in a different circumstance and different time period where they lack the vocabulary we've created now, but I, as the (nonbinary) author, declare it so. If these characters were given those terms and context, they would both identify as nonbinary, and that's why the fic is not tagged F/M.

“No! You have to do it nice! For Grandmama!” Antonia crossed her arms and shook her head, red hair falling out of her older sister's hands. “No more braids! I want to look grown-up!”

“You're eight, you have plenty of time to be grown-up later,” Carmine said, sensibly. “If you want grown-up hair for the party, you need to act grown-up.”

Antonia huffed softly, but took a deep breath. She uncrossed her arms and adjusted herself on the cushioned seat in front of the vanity. “Carmine, will you please do my hair like a grown-up?” she asked, tone considerably sweeter.

Carmine brushed through the fiery locks gently. “Well, you're still too young to wear it up on your head. But if you don't want braids maybe we could let you wear it down.” She pulled the top half of Antonia's hair back, and took a jeweled comb off of the vanity. “I could put this in it, if you promise to be on your best behavior and not run around and lose it.”

Antonia smiled. This was the respect she deserved. “Yes. I promise.” She held very still, not wanting to mess up Carmine's work. “...thank you for making it fancy,” she added, a few moments later. She was nothing if not polite...most of the time. “What is the party for, again?”

Carmine smiled. “The Crowley family has been reigning for three hundred years,” she said. “We’re celebrating successfully ruling.” The unrest in the country and the revolution brewing outside the palace doors were things she was barely beginning to understand at sixteen, and she didn’t think her baby sister was ready to have such things explained to her.

“That’s longer than even Grandmama has been alive,” Antonia said, eyes wide, making Carmine laugh. Grandmama was barely past fifty, hardly the ancient creature Antonia seemed to think—though she was probably the oldest person Antonia really knew.

With a few quick twists, Carmine secured the comb into Antonia’s hair. “There. Now you look a proper little duchess.”

“I’m a grand duchess,” Antonia said, primly, but she got down off the chair so she could twirl, her satiny green skirts and gold embroidery shining in the light. Carmine sat down at the vanity herself, to pinch her cheeks and do up her own red hair in front of the mirror.

“Yes, well, just don’t go getting yourself messy, Grand Duchess Antonia,” Carmine said. “Keep calm until the party. Grandmama will want to see what a little lady you can be.”

Antonia came close again, to watch her glamorous older sister French-braiding her hair, fixing it into a neat updo. “Are you going to dance at the party?”

Carmine smiled. “Hopefully.”

“Will I get to dance?”

Carmine laughed. “You haven’t even had lessons yet,” she said. “But I’m sure Papa will dance with you a little. You can stand on his feet!”

Antonia could only pout at that.

Later, downstairs, the party was so crowded with princes and princesses and foreign dignitaries of every stripe, that Antonia found it all a bit overwhelming. She stayed close to her sisters until her grandmother arrived in the ballroom, and then she ran to her despite all her promises about being ladylike.

Dowager Empress Agnes smiled, seeing the youthful exuberance for what it was. She loved all her grandchildren, of course, but she and Antonia had shared a special kinship from the moment Antonia had been born. Agnes saw so much of herself in the young girl—wanderlust, charm, wisdom, a fiery streak that burned brighter even than the hair atop her head.

“Grandmama!” Antonia hugged her tightly and Agnes held her close. Agnes lived for these moments, and who knew how many more there would be? Antonia wouldn’t be small forever.

“My Antonia,” she said, smiling softly. “You look so beautiful!”

Antonia grinned, and stepped back so she could curtsy, mostly to show off her dress. “Thank you. Carmine helped,” she said.

Agnes chuckled. “Well, she did very well. She has a lot of skill with that.” The older sister was currently surrounded by a throng of young men, her practice having paid off.

Antonia shrugged her shoulder. “She never wants to play anymore...she wants to go to Paris with you.” She pouted a little at the thought of Paris. The Dowager’s upcoming annual trip was a bit of a sore spot.

“I know, dear,” Agnes said. “We should have a little talk about that.” She took a seat on a gilded chair and opened her silk bag. “I have a little present for you. I had it made.”

Antonia stepped closer and watched as her grandmother took out a tiny, round, golden and enameled trinket. “A jewelry box?”

“Of sorts.” Agnes also took out a round pendant on a gold chain and used it as a key to wind the box. The box opened up and started to play music, a tinkling bell-sound that Antonia knew even over the noise of the party.

“Our lullaby!” she gasped. She started singing the little tune, and her grandmother joined in, softly.

_On the wind  
Cross the sea  
Hear this song and remember  
Soon you'll be  
Home with me  
Once upon a December_

“It’s so beautiful, Grandmama!” Antonia gushed.

Agnes smiled. “While I’m gone, you can play this tune and think of me,” she said. “It’ll help you to sleep.” She took the pendant out and hung it around Antonia’s neck. “It won’t be forever, dear. There’s another surprise. Look at your necklace.”

Antonia lifted the music box’s key to read the inscription. “Together...in Paris!” She looked up at her grandmother, eyes wide. “Really?”

Agnes laughed. “Yes. I’ve persuaded your father to allow you to spend a season there with me, once I’ve settled in.”

Antonia hugged her again with a happy squeal, most unbecoming a princess, but perfect for a happy granddaughter. “Oh, Grandmama!” She didn’t even know where to begin to express her excitement, a new country, a new city, away from the bitter cold and with her favorite person—she didn’t notice the problem when her grandmother clutched her closer, pulling her onto her lap.

A shocked murmur spread across the crowd and Antonia looked up to see her father, John, the czar, facing off against another man—Gabriel, once the czar’s spiritual advisor, flanked by a few of his most devoted followers.

Rumors abounded about Gabriel’s corruption and the demands he’d made, claiming they were for God—all while indulging in vodka, women, and song. Some even whispered about a dalliance between him and the czar’s wife, Virtue, though of course Antonia had heard no such thing at her tender age. Those whispers had been the final straw, causing John to banish Gabriel from the Imperial Palace. Virtue had feared retaliation—and now it seemed she’d been right to do so.

“You are no longer welcome here,” John was saying, as the music died down and the crowd hushed.

“I’m welcome anywhere I want,” Gabriel said. “I am his Holiness, fucking Gabriel, and you and your entire line will suffer for daring to dismiss me!”

Agnes hugged Antonia closer and stood. “Grandmama?” Antonia whispered, voice suddenly tiny as she clung to her.

Virtue ran to John. “The children—“ she gasped.

“That’s right, the children!” Gabriel sneered. “The house of Crowley will fall—I am more powerful than ever before, and I will avenge myself upon all of you!” With a wave of his hand, he sent a blast of fire towards a refreshment table, where the lace tablecloth and the vodka-heavy punch both ignited quickly and started to spread. A countess took off running, petticoats aflame, and several others ran after her to put her out.

Agnes didn’t wait. She ran.

She went up to their quarters to get coats—there wouldn’t be time for anything else. Behind them she could hear Gabriel on a rampage, destroying what he could, and the screams as people fled to get away from the spreading fire.

Agnes bundled Antonia roughly into a coat that was too big for her, and then hurried to grab the closest one that almost fit herself, probably Carmine’s. “Come, child.” She grabbed Antonia’s hand. “We’ll have to go past all the fire, but—“

“Your Majesty! This way!”

There was a gangly dark-haired boy behind them, only two or three years older than Antonia at most, squinting, but he pushed at a panel in the wall and it swung open, revealing a hidden passage.

Agnes frowned. “Newton, what—“

“It goes to the servant’s quarters!” the boy told her. “Come on!” Impertinent, maybe, but it would save their lives.

Agnes pulled Antonia towards the tunnel. Antonia gasped and reached back. “My music box!” It had tumbled from her hand to the floor and she broke away to reach for it.

Newton dove for it and grabbed it for her, and pushed her towards the tunnel. “No time, your Majesty!”

He got them through—through the hallway, outside the palace, into the night.

Gabriel was outside by then, too, as party guests and attending servants turned into firefighters. He spotted Antonia and Agnes in the chaos and chased them with bared teeth, snarling, across the grounds. Antonia ran and slid across the frozen pond, and Agnes tried to keep up, and Gabriel chased them both.

He got close enough to make a lunge, but Agnes gave him a swift kick to the teeth—she was in very good shape for her age. It sent him flying back, towards thinner ice, and when it started to crack it gave Agnes the adrenaline to push Antonia along, away to the other shore, to bolt and get away as Gabriel went screaming into the frigid depths of the water.

Nobody tried to rescue him.

All that was left was a strange, skinny lantern, glowing with a sickly green light. One of his followers, a dark-skinned man with hair in two tall spikes, swooped out onto the ice to fetch it and tuck it away into his pocket, and then flee the premises as quickly as he could, disappearing into the night.

The troubles weren’t over, though. Gabriel had stirred up enough bad will against the Crowley family that they were all still in danger. Their subjects wanted them dead.

It was a mad race for the nobility to find horses and carriages, to get to the train station. Agnes already had her ticket, she would just have to buy one for Antonia as well. She would go to Paris as planned and they could all find each other later. Agnes took a horse and they rode like the wind, Antonia in front of her, scared out of her mind—too scared for questions, just hanging on to the horse's mane for dear life with one hand, clutching her necklace with the other.

The train station was a scene of mass confusion, too, mobbed by the guests from the party. Agnes got the second ticket and pulled Antonia along to the train, as it was trying to pull away from the station, already starting to move. Agnes ran, and Antonia struggled to keep up save for the firm grip on her arm.

“Now, jump!” Agnes told her, and hopped onto the train.

Antonia, exhausted, didn’t realize Agnes was letting go, to give her room to follow—and she stumbled. She hit her head hard on a stranger’s steamer trunk, and it all went black, Agnes’s screams of her name ringing in her ears as the train left without her.


	2. St. Petersberg, 1927

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two schemes are set into motion.

A decade or so later, much of the advanced world was in the swing of the Roaring Twenties, but the party hadn’t come to Russia. All that revolution for nothing, really—there was no more czar, but conditions had not improved for most.

Newton Pulsifer, one-time kitchen boy to the Imperial Palace, had had enough. He wanted out of Russia and he’d smuggle anyone else out who wanted to go. There was a decent living in forging passports and visas, but he wanted more for himself—more security, more safety.

It was how he’d met Aziraphale Fell, once a young, low-ranking baron whose title meant next to nothing after the revolution. Aziraphale wanted out, too. He’d heard rumors of other nobility resettling in Paris, and he wished to join them, to find his old friends and relocate—somewhere hopefully happier.

They’d met for tea. “My passport is worthless,” Aziraphale had explained.

Newt nodded. “I know. If you try to leave they’ll just arrest you.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Aziraphale said. “I certainly didn’t want anything to do with all that revolution business. I was quite on their side, really, it wasn’t fair to build a palace covered in gold while their subjects starved in the streets. My own abode was quite modest, really, and I tried to help people—“

Newt held up a hand. “I’m sure,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. I can get you what you need. We could travel together, I’m leaving for Paris myself in a month’s time.”

It was the beginning of an unlikely friendship, both men putting their ear to the ground for any gossip from Paris.

“Did you know the Dowager Empress made it to Paris?” Aziraphale asked one day. “And she’s convinced that the youngest daughter didn’t die.”

Newt raised an eyebrow. “Well, you know, she wasn’t in the house with the rest of them when they were executed,” he said, lowly. “But everyone thought she never even made it away from the palace. Died in the fire.” Newt had never been sure, he’d fled the palace as soon as he’d gotten outside, run home to parents that had passed away in the decade since.

“Her grandmama insists she made it to the train station,” Aziraphale said. “And she’s offering quite a handsome reward for the return of her precious Antonia, should anyone be able to find her.”

Newton raised an eyebrow. “Probably enough money to live the rest of our lives in Paris.”

Aziraphale tilted his head. “I would think so, yes.”

“Girl’s probably dead,” Newt said. “But the old lady shouldn’t have to be alone. And it’s been ten years, who knows how different the Grand Duchess would be, all grown up?”

Aziraphale squinted. “Oh, this sounds like a terrible idea...”

* * *

Not so very far away, a redhead called Tanya was saying goodbyes. She’d been dropped at the orphanage by the police the day after the revolution had begun, with no name and no past, just the clothes on her back.

Sister Mary had chided her, trying to get any clue at all. “Well you must at least remember your name, child.”

Tanya hadn’t been sure. There were names that were familiar but none of them felt like hers. “I think it had a T in it?”

Out of everything Sister Mary had come up with, Tanya felt the closest.

In ten years, no family had ever come looking. No one had ever wanted to adopt the child with no “source.” And now Tanya was eighteen, too old to stay. Sister Mary had found her a job in a fishery, that came with room and board in a dorm with other girls. It was the best she’d be able to do for her.

Tanya had fought at first. Like she had so many times over the years, she insisted that it made more sense to send her to Paris, surely her family was there. She’d shown Sister Mary her necklace. “Together in Paris! It’s a clue!” she’d said—but the sad truth was that Sister Mary could barely afford the stamps to write letters and set up the job. There was no money for a ticket to Paris.

So Tanya quit arguing. She said her goodbyes to the children left behind her, took the last advice from Sister Mary, and headed out of the gates and onto the snowy road to walk to the fishing village.

It was lonely; it was the first time in a decade Tanya had had more than a moment to herself. She was sure she must have had siblings, before she forgot everything. She had to have a family that loved her—and if they loved her, surely they would still be happy to see her after all this time?

She tried not to think about it, but the pain of it distracted a bit from the cold and her wet feet inside her boots.

She’d nearly reached the signpost that Sister Mary had described in her directions (over and over, Sister Mary was a hard woman to shut up), when she heard yipping. She froze, not sure what the sound was, until a small black-and-white dog bounded out of the trees. She took a step back at first, but the dog sat at her feet and wagged his tail.

“Are you lost?” she asked, and then winced, it had barely been an hour since she’d spoken to people, she wasn’t _that_ desperate for company.

Still, the dog came close and playfully nipped at her coat, and she knelt to scratch his head. He closed his eyes and leaned into it. The dog didn’t have a collar, and they were deep enough in the woods that she had to assume no one was coming after him. “You’re cute,” she said. “But I’m sure they won’t let me keep you in the dorms.”

Still. She could keep him fed. Give him away when she got to the village. A girl walking alone in the woods could do worse than to have a little protection. When she stood and made her way closer to the signpost, the dog walked beside her.

She looked up at the sign and sighed heavily. To the left, a life in a fishery. Boring. Gray. Smelly. Nothing to her name but room and board and the gold necklace she’d likely have to keep hidden.

She looked down the path to the right. St. Petersburg, where she’d been found wandering. Home of the Imperial Palace. Possibly _her_ home once, if her home wasn’t Paris. Her accent was Russian, not French, so it seemed unlikely she’d been raised in Paris.

“What do you think, Dog?” she asked. Very sensible, calling him that. “Fishing, or...I could strike out on my own. Try to find out what a ticket to Paris costs.”

Dog yipped softly.

Tanya lifted her face to the sign. “It’s...security, or happiness.”

Dog took her skirt in his mouth and tugged her to the right, and she felt something stir in her. She was on her own now, and she had the power to decide. If she didn’t want to take the job, who could punish her for blowing it off? If she had a family that was missing her, shouldn’t she at least try? There were thousands of jobs out there, probably, if she turned up nothing—even if she ended up alone in Paris, it seemed like a better fate than alone in a tiny fishing village.

And who knew? She might actually find the family that haunted her dreams.

Tanya raised her chin. “All right, Dog, we’re going to Paris.”

Dog ran ahead of her on the path towards St. Petersburg.

* * *

Paris, however, seemed like more of a challenge than Tanya had bargained for.

She went to the train station, just to find out how much a ticket would even cost. She’d have to find some kind of work and save up, but she wanted to know precisely how much she’d need.

She wasn’t sure why she felt a sudden rush of anxiety as she walked the busy wooden platform.

“Hello, I’d like to know what a ticket to Paris would cost?” she said, when she reached the front of the line.

“Do you have an exit visa?” the clerk demanded.

“Oh—I—well, no?” she said. “But I—“

“No exit visa? No ticket!” The clerk waggled a finger at her. “Next!”

Tanya tried to protest, but he shooed her along. She got out of the way of the next customer, frowning in thought. Where did one even ask for an exit visa? And then did that cost money, too? Would they sell it to her?

“Psst!”

Tanya looked up, and an older woman with blonde hair, covered in scarves of every color, beckoned her closer. She didn’t know anyone, but this lady seemed to have a trustworthy face, so Tanya came closer.

“No travel papers, dearie?” the woman asked. 

“I—no, I—just wanted—“

The woman shook her head. “Go to the old palace. Newton can help you. Don’t tell them I told you.”

“I don’t even know who you are,” Tanya pointed out.

The woman smiled with bright lips and gave an exaggerated wink. “Right you are!” She slunk back into the shadows.

Tanya considered her options. If this Newton couldn’t help her—or if he wasn’t even there—she would have only lost a walk and a little time, and she would’ve seen a palace.

“Right. Palace it is,” she said, softly, and walked away with Dog on her heels.


	3. The Imperial Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tanya meets Newton and Aziraphale, and the reliquary burns again.

Finding the palace, huge next to the frozen river, proved easy. Getting into it was a bit harder, but Tanya found the part where a fire had obviously happened once. She’d studied the revolution, of course, but thinking of the dead royal family that had once lived there made the whole thing wildly visceral. The weird anxiety flared up again, and Tanya stopped to scold herself. It wasn’t as if it was on fire now.

Dog ran in and started sniffing around as Tanya walked in, looking at the few pieces left behind. The whole place seemed bare, and she realized that many of the ornate decorations that had once been there, anything not built into the palace itself, had probably been scavenged over the years.

“Hello?” she called. “Is anyone here?”

Dog scampered up some steps and barked at a painting on the wall. Tanya followed curiously to take a look, as if the little creature could even tell what was painted there, as if it was significant somehow.

It was a portrait of the royal family, she realized—the czar and his several daughters, his wife, and the long-sought-for son who’d been plagued with an illness that drove the czarina to seek a holy man and begun the nobles’ downfall.

She studied the faces. The children had hair as flaming as her own, from their mother. They all had striking blue eyes as well, though they somehow looked a bit haunted now—or maybe that was just a flight of fancy in her own imagination.

Tanya turned to look back down the grand staircase at the empty, mouldering ballroom. She closed her eyes and could practically see the last grand party that had happened, the roaring fires, the swirling ballgowns, the czar overseeing it all with his stern eyes.

She was imagining that. She’d just looked at his portrait, after all.

Still, she felt oddly affected by all of it—it couldn’t feel familiar and yet it did, like she’d seen the wings that were painted on the trimmings somewhere in a half-remembered dream.

Just as she was thinking maybe she’d worked in the palace—but what palace would hire an eight-year-old?—there was a voice.

“Hello, I didn’t have any more appointments—are you here—”

Tanya gasped and started to back away. “I’m sorry—”

“Hold on,” the voice said, and Newt stepped in from the next room. Tanya backed up towards the wall, right in front of the painting, into the light.

Newt stared at her for a long moment as Aziraphale walked in beside him. “Oh my,” Aziraphale breathed. The girl standing there almost looked like she was part of the painting, she resembled its subjects so well.

“I was saying, I didn’t have any more appointments today, but we could still see you,” Newt said.

“I need papers!” Tanya blurted.

Newt tilted his head. “Papers?”

Tanya came down the stairs, Dog close on her heels. “I—I can’t tell you where I heard this, but I’m looking for Newton, because they said he could get me travel papers,” she explained. “Are—are you Newton? They said you’d be here.”

Newt nodded. “Oh—oh, right. Yes. That’s me. Just Newt is fine.” He glanced uncomfortably at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale couldn’t take his eyes off her. “The resemblance is remarkable,” he said. “More than any girl we’ve seen today.”

Newt waved him off. Tanya shook her head. “I want to go to Paris. Move to Paris, really.”

“Right,” Newt said. “Paris.” He took a deep breath. “Do you realize, you look just like—”

“I’m Tanya,” she said, cutting him off.

“Tanya?” he asked. “What’s your last name?”

Tanya rubbed the back of her neck. “Well—I know this sounds strange, but—I don’t have one.” Of course, there was something on the orphanage’s paperwork, there had to be, but it had never felt right. She’d tried to remember her real last name and she wasn’t about to admit to this stranger that Sister Mary had written down Tanya _Crawly_.

“How is that possible?” Aziraphale cut in.

Tanya sighed. “I was found, ten years ago, when I was eight, just wandering around. The police took me, I’ve been in an orphanage all this time, but now I’m of age and—and I want to go to Paris. I could have family there. See?” She pulled out her necklace. Together in Paris.

“The age lines up perfectly,” Aziraphale told Newt.

Newt nodded, and looked at the necklace. Strange for a random, lost orphan to have such a fancy trinket. And she looked the part more than anyone else had, even after a long day of auditions for their racket.

Tanya tucked her necklace away again. “Look, I just—I need to get to Paris, and they won’t let me leave without papers, I need to know how much a ticket is, I need to save up, I don’t even have a place to stay yet, just—can you help me?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Well, funnily enough, we’re going to be going to Paris. Tomorrow,” he said. “And we do have a third ticket.”

“Tomorrow?” Tanya gasped. “I wouldn’t be able to repay you so soon—”

“You wouldn’t need to, if you’re the right girl,” Newt said. “The third ticket is for her. Antonia.” He held his arm back up towards the painting. Dog ran up the steps again to yip at the painting.

Tanya frowned. “So you don’t have a ticket to spare.”

“Not so fast,” Aziraphale said. “She’s missing. We’ve been looking for her. Her grandmother is in Paris, offering a reward for her return.”

“And you do resemble her,” Newt said. “Just look at the portraits! You have John’s smile, Virtue’s chin...”

“The Crowley eyes,” Aziraphale added, almost dreamily. “Oh! And—well, she was eight years old when she went missing. Ten years ago,” he pointed out.

Tanya was looking back and forth between them with a frown. “And so—you think—” She shook her head. “It’s impossible! You—you’re crazy!”

“Think about it!” Newt said. “We’ve been looking at girls all over the country. Thousands! And not one of them has looked as much like that painting as you do. Her only remaining family have all relocated to Paris, that couldn’t have come out of nowhere. You’ve never thought about it?”

Tanya rolled her eyes. “While I was sleeping on a damp floor with no coat and no fire? Sure, who wouldn’t wish that they were a secret lost princess?” she said.

“Well, somewhere, one girl is,” Aziraphale said. “Why shouldn’t it be you?” He looked to the painting. “Antonia. It means ‘priceless one,’ and that’s still how her grandmother feels.”

Newt started to head away. “Well, anyway, the third ticket is for her, or at least a girl we feel fairly certain is her.”

Aziraphale nodded, and went to follow him.

Tanya watched them for a moment, then looked back up at the painting. The palace felt familiar. That didn’t sound so crazy now.

She rushed up the steps to grab Dog and hurried after them. “Well—wait!” she said. “Newt!”

Newt turned around. “Yes?”

Tanya looked at him, breathlessly. “Well, I mean—I don’t remember who I am, really, and—that doesn’t just happen every day, right? And—and Paris, that’s the only clue I have, and—well, I could go, and just meet her, I mean, if she was really my grandmother she’d recognize me, right? If she doesn’t then—well, we just took a chance and it’s all just a mistake, that—that’s not illegal, or anything, right?”

Aziraphale smiled. “That was our thought exactly, my dear,” he said. “If there was any girl in Russia who could be Antonia, really, it was our moral imperative to facilitate an introduction, nothing more.”

Tanya considered for a moment. “An introduction. And—if I’m not her, then at least I’m still in Paris to look for my family.”

Newt nodded. “You’re no worse off than you are now.”

Tanya stuck her hand out to Newt, and he awkwardly took it to shake. “Deal!” she said.

Aziraphale bowed to her. “Aziraphale Fell, at your service, Grand Duchess Antonia.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

Tanya blushed softly and giggled. “Oh—oh, come on now—it’s just Tanya, until I find out for sure.”

* * *

The light in the reliquary had been nearly out for ten entire years. Just a single ember, a pinprick of light, barely even visible in daylight—but now the sun was setting, and it was dark near the ceiling of the palace.

Eric was perched on a thick beam, up in the rafters. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but when he’d heard that someone was auditioning princesses in the old, abandoned palace—well, it seemed like the sort of thing he should probably check out. Not that making a fake princess would bring the real one back to life, but Eric was sure that if Gabriel ever returned, he’d want to know about this sort of thing. He’d guarded the reliquary for a decade, still feeling beholden to his fallen master.

As Eric watched Newt and Aziraphale leaving with Tanya, the dark palace was suddenly not so dark. The reliquary’s light flooded the ceiling, sickly and green but suddenly bright again. Smoke billowed out of its top. Eric frowned. Obligations or not, he’d sort of hoped it would just stay quiet.  
  
But why? Newt and Aziraphale were scam artists, pulling a scheme. Unless—

Tanya really was the lost Antonia!

Eric didn’t have time to think it over before he was being sucked into the reliquary, too, down through the floor, through icy water, through impossible caves, to some sort of metaphysical plane—and when he came to a stop on rocky ground, the reliquary rolled on the ground beside him.

Gabriel was standing before him, no longer the handsome man he’d once been. His skin had greened out with decay, his hair gone long and shaggy, his figure depleted to skin and bones.

“Master!” Eric knelt, head down, in front of him. “You’re alive?”

Gabriel scoffed. “Not precisely!” He huffed with anger. “They nearly killed me but I can’t quite seem to die! No matter what I do!” As a demonstration, he popped his head off with both hands, and all that happened was a worm dropped out of his neck and to the ground. He put his head back so he could speak again. “I sold my soul to get my revenge. So long as one of them is alive, I cannot fully die, but I’m not alive either. I’m stuck here in limbo until they all drop off the earth!”

Eric straightened up, on his knees. “The Crowleys all died, sir. The ones that escaped the fire were executed, except the Dowager—”

“She was never a Crowley,” Gabriel said. “She married into the family. Cousins, distant relatives, it’s not the same. It’s John and his offspring I’m concerned with.”

Eric took a deep breath. “Well—there are rumors,” he said, slowly. “That one daughter—she wasn’t at the house with the rest of them, she didn’t get executed.”

“Which daughter?” Gabriel snapped.

“Antonia, sir. And—and the Dowager is offering a reward, and there’s someone trying to claim it—”

“That’s it!” Gabriel said. “They must have found her, and that’s why I haven’t died!” He whirled closer and slapped Eric across the cheek, causing his hand to pop off his arm, too. He picked it up in the other hand and reattached it. “Why didn’t you kill her? Why have you let me become—this! Look at me, I—I used to be handsome!”

Eric was rubbing his cheek to take the sting out. “You look pretty good for having been dead all this time. Dead-ish,” he said. He put his hands up to make sure his hair was still coiffed, the two tall columns resembling rabbit ears.

Gabriel frowned deeply at him, one eyebrow quirked dangerously.

Eric sighed. “She—she got away. But—well, when I saw her talking with the men after the reward, she didn’t seem sure. She didn’t know who she was.”

Gabriel stroked his chin. “Ahh. So that’s what it was. She’s lain dormant, and so have I.” He started pacing. “She has to die...if only I had my powers, I could kill her. But they’re trapped—”

“In here?” Eric asked, and held up the reliquary.

“In there!” Gabriel snatched the reliquary and hung it from his belt. He laughed darkly. “She won’t be around for long now, whether she remembers or not! And once she’s gone, I can go on to my eternal reward!”


	4. The Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey begins, disastrously.

The next morning found Tanya, Newt, and Aziraphale boarding a train. “Farewell, Russia,” Aziraphale said. “You have always been home. Here’s to—better days, again.”

Tanya frowned, looking across the compartment at him. “You don’t plan to come back?” she asked. “What if I’m not the Grand Duchess?”

“We believe you are,” Newt insisted, as he pushed their bags into the overhead compartment.

“I don’t plan to come back, either way,” Aziraphale said. “Russian nobility isn’t so safe in Russia anymore.”

Tanya felt a twinge of suspicion about the men’s “moral imperative,” but her hands weren’t perfectly clean, either. She could be the Grand Duchess—but realistically, she probably wasn’t. She was probably wasting Newt and Aziraphale’s money and time—but she’d found a way to Paris, on her way out of Russia before the fishery could even pen a letter to the orphanage to ask why she hadn’t turned up. No one would ever know, and they’d never be able to find her.

She cuddled Dog close for a moment before setting him on the seat. Newt went to sit down next to Tanya, but Dog barked, alerting Newt to his presence.

Tanya reached over and scratched Dog’s head, making sure he wouldn’t leave her, and Newt rolled his eyes as he sat across from her, with Aziraphale, cramped a bit by Aziraphale’s bag. “So the dog gets the window seat?”

Tanya rolled her eyes. “It’s _Dog_ , that’s his _name_ ,” she insisted. “And yes. He does.”

Newt pursed his lips. “Fine. And sit up straight, if you’re going to pass as a Grand Duchess you can’t go slouching everywhere.”

“And how do you know?” Tanya fired off, suddenly sitting up rigidly.

“I have made it my business to know,” Newt said. “I’ve been hunting for a Grand Duchess for a month now!” Just, perhaps, not in the way Tanya assumed.

Tanya’s lips curled up in a smirk. “And you really think I’m her? That I’m royalty?”

“Yes, of course,” Newt said.

“Then stop bossing me around!” Tanya snapped.

Aziraphale quietly added a tally under the “Tanya” column on a page in his diary—one of many, compared to a single one for Newt. The Crowleys had all been prone to tempers and being obstinate, and Tanya was certainly as much of a firebrand as any of them. Aziraphale found it charming that even after an upbringing in an orphanage she was somehow so fearless.

Newt huffed, but he leaned back, away from her, and picked up a newspaper to hide behind under the guise of reading.

Eventually Aziraphale offered Tanya her choice of the books in his bag, and she took one, just to pass the time.

“One of my favorites,” Aziraphale said, grinning, pleased with her selection. “It’s just wonderful, there’s daring rescues, and true love, and—oh, well, don’t let me ruin it for you, but we can discuss it when you finish it!”

Tanya gave him a flattered smile. “Of course,” she agreed. She’d never felt so interesting in her life—no one had ever wanted to hear her opinions on anything, no matter how strong they were.

The hours flew by, at least for Tanya. After lunch and into the afternoon, when her eyes needed a break, she set the book aside for the time being. “Do you think you’ll miss Russia?” she asked the men.

“I will,” Aziraphale said. “I do love the look of the snow.”

“It snows in Paris,” Newt said.

“Not so much, or for so long,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t know, I always feel warm, the winter winds were a sort of relief.”

Tanya smiled. “I’m always cold,” she said.

“It’s because you’re so skinny,” Newt said. “Your grandmother will feed you better than the orphanage and you’ll feel better.”

Tanya frowned a little, but sighed. “Probably.”

“I won’t miss it,” Newt said. “Paris is—lively, beautiful. I never felt like I belonged in Russia. It wasn’t home.”

“But you think Paris will be home?” Tanya asked.

Newt shrugged. “I think Paris will be fun,” he said. “Good enough.”

“But—” Tanya shook her head. “Won’t you want your home?”

“I guess I just hadn’t thought about it,” Newt said. “Maybe I’ll find it someday.”

Tanya looked out the window and reached up to hold her necklace, to rub her thumb over the raised letters. It was the closest thing she had to a home just then.

“I’ll be back,” Aziraphale said, getting up and setting his book aside. “Excuse me.”

Dog started yipping at the window, and Tanya couldn’t figure out why. “Shush,” she told him. “There’s nothing there, you silly thing. Quiet.” She looked outside, but it was still just miles of snow. She couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

Aziraphale was gone for several minutes, using the lavatory, but he returned in a panic. “Newt, the papers—” he said, in a hushed tone. Newt went out into the corridor with him, and when they came back they were both keyed up.

Newt started picking up their luggage. “We’re moving, your Grace,” he told Tanya.

“Moving?” Tanya asked.

“To the baggage car, dear,” Aziraphale said.

Tanya frowned. “Baggage—“ She picked up Dog and her one small bag. “There wouldn’t be anything wrong with our papers, would there?”

“Of course not,” Newt said. “We just thought all these commoners going by must be a nuisance to you.” Tanya rolled her eyes behind his back, but they relocated to the baggage car, right behind the engine. Aziraphale was still a little worried that the officers would find them, but they got settled with their bags anyway.

He didn’t have to worry long.

Gabriel and Eric watched from Limbo, through a crystal ball. Gabriel directed his demons, a horde of dark little fairies, with a wave of his hands, commanding them, telling them where to go—and to stay unseen.

First they lured all the humans out of the engine car and into the back of the train. Newt thought it was a bit strange that they all passed through the baggage car, but they were trying not to be seen. He said nothing.

Next, the demons uncoupled the rest of the train from the baggage car. The engine and baggage car went speeding ahead with all the extra weight gone.

One group of demons fused the coupling between the baggage car and the engine—the other group stoked the engine well into the danger zone, and it started going even faster.

Newt got up, suspicious, and went up to check on the engineer—and came back, frantic. “There’s no one up there!” He ran to the back of the car, intending to go find someone, only to be met with wintery winds and no next car behind them. “Oh—it’s gone! The rest of the train’s gone!”

“The dining car?” Aziraphale asked, alarmed.

“All of it!” Newt snapped. “We can’t run the train, we need to unlink, too—“ He ran back towards the engine, realizing someone was out to sabotage them. Tanya leapt up to follow, in case it took two people. “They’re fused!” Newt called back. “Someone’s welded them together! We can’t—“

“Someone’s after us!” Aziraphale said.

“Never mind that, find me—I dunno, a pickax or something!” Newt told them.

Tanya scanned the shipping boxes and grinned as her eyes landed on one marked “EXPLOSIVES.” She brought Newt a stick of dynamite and a match. “Will this work?” she asked, smirking a little.

Newt’s eyes went wide and he swallowed thickly. “Uh—yeah. Just—get back!” He shoved the stick into a gap in the coupling and then lit the fuse. “Get back!” He ran back into the car and as far across to the other side as he could get, pulling Tanya with. Aziraphale rushed over, leaping behind another shipping crate just as the dynamite blasted, not just blowing the cars apart, but taking off the front end of the baggage car.

Tanya stood, quickly checking on the men, thankful to see both of them in one piece.

“Now we’ll just slow to a stop,” Newt said.

Tanya was looking further down the track. “Before we get to that?” she asked, pointing ahead.

Newt and Aziraphale both stood just in time to see a bridge ahead of them—and to see the speeding engine hurtle right off the end of the broken tracks and into a ravine.

“There’s got to be a way to slow us down!” Newt said.

Aziraphale lifted up a hook on a chain. “This?” he asked. Newt grabbed it, wide-eyed, and scrambled to the back of the car. He wrapped the end of the chain around the bars of the railing, and tossed the hook behind them with a prayer. The hook caught on the wooden ties. It wasn’t enough to stop them, it wrenched the railings from the car, but it slowed them down enough that jumping with their bags wasn’t a suicide mission.  
  
They landed in soft snow. Aziraphale offered Tanya a hand up. “I apologize, your grace.”

“You apologize? You? Someone’s after us, but it’s not you!” Tanya said, shaking her head. She lifted Dog into her arms and tucked him inside her coat, it’d be too cold for him to walk with bare feet.

Newt sighed heavily. “We’ll have to walk to the next station. But at least we didn’t go off the bridge.”

Tanya shivered. “What if they’re still after us?”

“We pray they aren’t,” Aziraphale said, stiffly, lifting his bag out of the snow.

* * *

Gabriel snarled and knocked his crystal ball off its pedestal. Eric chased after it as it rolled away, retrieving it before it could be lost.

“She’s too clever for her own damn good!” Gabriel bellowed. “My underlings have failed me!”

Eric gingerly returned the crystal ball to its perch. “Perhaps—well, she’ll die eventually, sir. Maybe soon, they’re walking through snow...”

“Blast them all!” Gabriel said. “No. Next time...next time I won’t attack. It’s too obvious. They knew someone was coming for them...next time, I’ll be more subtle. I’ll lure her into a trap.”

Eric nodded. “Right. Of course. From down here?”

“You’ll see,” Gabriel said, smile turning smarmy.


	5. Germany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tanya faces a new challenge.

It was a long, cold night, but when dawn rose over the mountains, Tanya, Newt, and Aziraphale were nearly down in the valley, and the sun warmed and dried them quickly.

“So if we can’t get on another train, are we just going to walk all the way to Paris?” Tanya asked.

“No, your grace, we’ll take a boat to Paris, from Germany,” Newt said.

“And how are we getting to Germany?” Tanya pressed.

Newt sighed deeply. “A bus.”

“A bus. Lovely,” Tanya said. She’d liked the train, but hardly thought a bus would be so glamorous.

“It won’t be long, the hard part is over!” Aziraphale said, delighted now that they were out of the forest and on a proper road, at least. “We’ll be in Paris by the end of the week! We’ll see Anathema!”

Newt made a face. “Aziraphale—“

“Who?” Tanya asked.

“Anathema,” Aziraphale repeated. “Sweet girl. Very studious. We share an interest in antiquated books of prophecy—“

“Aziraphale,” Newt said, through gritted teeth.

“And why are we seeing her?” Tanya asked, feeling an odd pang of jealousy that Aziraphale should be so excited about it.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to answer, and then hesitated. “Well—“

“She’s one of the Dowager’s granddaughters,” Newt said. “She—she’s sort of the Dowager’s caretaker. No one sees the Dowager without Anathema Device screening them. You’ll have to convince her you’re Antonia.”

Tanya halted in the middle of the road. “What?”

Aziraphale patted her shoulder comfortingly. “It’s fairly easy. A lot of girls have gotten past her.”

“No, no, no!” Tanya cried. “You said I just had to meet the Empress. See if she recognized me. No one told me I would have to _lie_!”

“There’s nothing wrong with knowing courtly manners and the Russian royal family tree,” Newt said. “And besides, it isn’t a lie if you’re really her.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes! And I can teach you everything, I used to be in the royal court.”

Tanya frowned, studying his face anew. “You were?”

Aziraphale blushed. “Well, yes. I was just a baron, but I spent a fair amount of time at court.”

Tanya considered this. Aziraphale did seem very prim, educated—she nodded slowly. She could almost envision him in the palace, dancing right along the phantoms in her imagination, enjoying the beautiful dinner. “And you think I can learn all that? In just a few days?”

Aziraphale grinned at her. “You’re clever, of course you can!”

Newt nodded. “It’ll practically come naturally!”

Tanya took a deep breath. “All right. Teach me.” They had nothing better to talk about as they walked to the bus station, after all.

* * *

The finer rules of etiquette and protocol were hard for Tanya to grasp. “What difference does it make who bows first so long as everyone’s nice?” But she tried to remember anyway. Newt pointed out that she probably didn’t need to have it perfect, she wouldn’t have been likely to have learned it all at eight.

“As long as she carries herself with poise, we’ll be all right,” Aziraphale said, and Tanya had poise in spades, so long as no one made her angry. “And you do, dear,” he said. “You’re quite regal.”

Antonia had given him the warmest smile either of the men had seen from her.

The royal family was oddly easier, despite the vast swath of names and details.

“You really haven’t studied this before?” Newt asked her.

Tanya shook her head. “No. Not really. Maybe I saw some of these pictures in school.” She pointed to a photo in the scrapbook Newt was using to teach her the family tree. “This one. Count Sergei...he’s the one that had a cat. Great fluffy yellow beast,” she said.

“Er—yes,” Aziraphale said.

Newt made a face. He’d been charged with cleaning its litter box when Sergei visited the palace.

Aziraphale looked at Newt and waved to get his attention while Tanya studied the names and photos. “Did—did you tell her that?” he whispered.

Newt shook his head. “You must have.”

Aziraphale felt a twist in his stomach. He was prone to rambling, yes, but he was quite sure he hadn’t mentioned—

“His name was Andrei,” Tanya was saying. “The cat. Warrior.”

“Yes, quite right,” Aziraphale agreed.

Tanya grinned. “I love animals.” She gave Dog an affectionate scratch behind the ears.

Aziraphale ducked his head, smiling. “Of course,” he agreed, wondering if that was because of old Andrei. He had been quite charmed by Tanya from the start, but now he was looking at her in a whole new light. Could she actually be the lost princess?

Strangely, it explained more than if she wasn’t. It filled in the missing gaps of Tanya’s history. The timelines merged perfectly.

“Maybe you should go over the dinner forks again,” Newt suggested, derailing Aziraphale’s train of thought.

“Yes. Of course. Etiquette. Tanya, dear, now tell me, which fork is used for fish?”

* * *

They eventually made it to the bus, and then the boat, with Newt going further into town to bring back supplies before they got to Paris, fresh food and some new clothes for Tanya. Once on board they were all able to get a proper shower, and Tanya had a fitted blue dress to slip into afterward. It was hardly the height of fashion, but it seemed to be what all the other travelers were wearing, and at least it wasn’t four shapeless layers.

She put her hair back in a ponytail and went above deck, looking for her companions. “Hello,” she greeted, coming to lean on the rail between them.

Both men turned at the sound of her voice, startled.

“I didn’t realize your hair was long,” Aziraphale said. The tufts that had poked out of her warm hat had made it look like her hair was bobbed.

Tanya smiled. “Yeah...there wasn’t much else to do with it, and I needed the hat, trying to keep warm, you know...” She shrugged. “But it’s long. Do you think I should cut it?”

Newt said yes, Aziraphale said no.

“It doesn’t matter,” Aziraphale told her. “The Grand Duchess might have done anything. Do what you like.”

Tanya was so pleased with the way Aziraphale seemed to like it that she shook her head. “I think I’ll keep it, at least for now.”

Aziraphale gave her a warm smile. “Well, whatever you wish. Now that we’re not walking or in a cramped bus, it’s time you learned to dance.”

“Dance?” Tanya squeaked.

Aziraphale chuckled softly. “Yes, my dear, the Grand Duchess would have at least known a simple box step by the time she disappeared. Newt, go on, show her the steps.”

“Me?!” Newt gasped.

Aziraphale nodded. “I’d probably teach her too well, honestly. I’m a very good dancer.” That was true, provided he had months to practice and master the steps.

Newt sighed a little. “Right. Come on, Tanya.” He took her hand and pulled her away from the rails, and once they were closer to the middle of the deck, he helped place her into position and they started a simple dance, with Aziraphale counting off the beats for them.

Tanya took to it easily, but then even her ordinary movements were graceful. Newt and Aziraphale both tried to build her confidence, but somehow there was something there that went deeper than a few compliments, something innate in how she carried herself.

“Let him lead,” Aziraphale said, chuckling softly. “Even as a Grand Duchess, it’s your job to follow on the ballroom floor.”

Tanya huffed out, blowing hair out of her eyes. “Fine.” She adjusted her steps, letting Newt control how they moved, but she glared at him with fiery eyes.

Aziraphale watched them spinning together, the way Tanya wanted to dominate—certainly the sort of thing Newt needed in life—and the way Tanya also wanted to make them happy, to get it right, to pull this off.

It struck Aziraphale like lightning. How had he not thought of it before? How had it not been obvious from the start?

Newt was mostly confident, but Tanya left him a nervous mess fairly frequently. They were both young and attractive, and both alone in the world.

Aziraphale and Newt had crafted a perfect plan, and Tanya was learning everything they could teach her, but somehow they’d forgotten the incredibly likely—nearly inevitable—possibility of romance.

Aziraphale realized he should’ve been the one to teach her the dance. No chance of her going and falling for him.

Tanya looked away from Newt and smiled at Aziraphale. “Can we be done? I’m getting dizzy here,” she joked.

“Oh, I suppose—so long as you know the basics, it’s not as if Anathema is likely to demand you perform for her,” Aziraphale mused. “It’s getting dark, may as well go down to the cabin.”

Below decks, they settled in, getting ready for bed. Newt loaned Tanya a pair of pajamas. She was so tall they fit fairly well, and she took the bottom bunk. Newt put his bag on the floor, used it as a pillow, and promptly passed out.

When Aziraphale came out of the tiny bathroom in his pajamas, Tanya was sitting on her bunk, brushing her hair, turned away from him, and he caught himself staring.

He knew better than to think that she’d ever feel anything for him. They might see each other at state functions, if they could convince the Dowager, but he hardly expected her real attention once she’d found her family. But for just a moment, he watched her, cinnamon-colored hair cascading in the lamplight, and let himself imagine seeing that again, like he’d have any right to have such a sight all to himself, and let himself want it. Just a flutter of a thought, really, but he found himself aching, no matter how nonsensical it was. He’d be so good to her, like the princess she was. Ten years hiding in Russia wasn’t exactly warm and companionable, what he longed to have in his life.

Tanya turned to look at him. “Am I in the way?” she asked. “Or can you get up there?”

“Oh—“ Aziraphale nodded. “You’re quite all right, dear, you’re not even close to the ladder.” He climbed up the end of the bed and into the small space, and determined to put his silly fantasy right out of his mind and never think of it again, no matter what kind of affection he felt for the vivacious princess.

And that was just it, wasn’t it? Tanya really was the princess, she had to be. She remembered things that they hadn’t even told her. She was the spitting image of her parents. It would be more remarkable if she _wasn’t_ Antonia.

Newt let out a loud snore and Tanya laughed. “I envy his ability to just nod off like that,” she said.

Dog sniffed at Newt, as if he was worried the man was dead, and then once he was satisfied that wasn’t the case, he nosed at Newt’s satchel.

“What are you doing, Dog?” Tanya chided, and got up to pull the dog away, but before she could, he had nosed a small object out onto the floor.

“What’s this?” Tanya asked, and picked up the small green and gold trinket. She frowned as she studied it, and Dog yipped at her feet. “What do you think?” She turned and held it up to Aziraphale.

He took it and turned it over in his hands, and shook his head. “Looks to be some sort of jewelry box, though I can’t imagine it would hold much.”

Tanya shook her head. “Well, it must be locked, there’s a place for a key, and I can’t open it.”

Aziraphale nodded and handed it back to her. “Must be important to him. Perhaps his mother’s.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” Tanya carefully put it back in Newt’s satchel. “And you! You shouldn’t snoop,” she scolded Dog, who whimpered and then jumped into her bed. She snorted out a small laugh and got into the bed, too. “Well. Good night, Aziraphale.”

“Yes. Sleep well, your grace,” Aziraphale said, and Tanya put out the light.


	6. Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tanya has a nightmare.

Meanwhile in limbo, the mood had shifted. “Now I’ve got her!” Gabriel said, gleefully, and Eric frowned.

“She’s slept a few times,” he pointed out.

“Not on a boat,” Gabriel said. “It’s perfect.” He’d been waiting a few days for this chance. “Now, Tanya, I’ll get into your mind, where you can’t escape me.” He curled his near-skeletal fingers around his crystal ball.

Deep in the glass, they saw Tanya’s lips curl into a smile. “What are you doing, boss?” Eric asked.

“She’s having a dream,” Gabriel said. “A very good dream...”

Sure enough, Tanya’s smile only grew wider. She was nearly laughing in her sleep.

She was dreaming of exactly what she often dreamt of in her waking hours, too—she was with her family, exactly as they had been, before they’d all been assassinated. In her dream, though, she knew the faces of her sisters and her little brother, the baby of the family, in a way that escaped her grasp when she was awake.

She was playing outside with them on a grassy hill, near a swimming hole—they were all dressed in old-fashioned swimsuits, herself included. She could hear her father calling from below.

“I don’t get it, boss, what’s the point of making her happy?”

“Quiet, Eric!” Gabriel hissed.

Gabriel added the sound of Virtue’s laughter, and then—

Tanya left her bunk, following the sounds, her eyes still closed in sleep.

Eric gasped. “Oh! Oh!”

Tanya thought she was wandering up the hill, to a safe place to dive, and then her parents would be there, she’d swim with her siblings, it would all be beautiful.

In reality, she was climbing the stairs to go out on deck. In addition to the danger of falling overboard, a storm was brewing—the clouds made it nearly impossible to see, and the boat was rocking wildly—but Tanya couldn’t feel that, wrapped up in her dream.

Dog whimpered for her, and when she ignored him, he chased after her, yipping softly.

It was enough to wake Aziraphale. “Tanya—dear, quiet the dog—“ But Dog was running away, and Aziraphale leaned over the bunk to find Tanya’s place empty.

Tanya was out on the deck, and in her dream she was getting close to the diving spot. Over the edge, and her whole family would be there, maybe even Grandmama—only it was so cold. Gabriel couldn’t entirely block the feeling of the frigid storm rain pouring down on her.

She was surprisingly steady on her feet as the boat listed under her.

Aziraphale burst out from below decks. “Tanya!”

Tanya halted, shivering, and her dream suddenly turned nasty. She watched one of her sisters jump, and as she reached the edge, she looked over, down, right into a portal—a hellmouth, and tiny minion demons flew up at her.

“That’s right, your grace!” Gabriel cackled. “Right over the edge, into your grave! It’s your family curse!”

“ _Tanya_!” Aziraphale yelled, sharply.

Tanya turned to the voice, and the dream’s spell was broken. She looked around, confused for a moment, and then stumbled over into Aziraphale’s arms, gait listing with the rocking of the boat in the storm. “The curse!” she cried. “He’s after me—the curse, the Crowley curse—“ She started to cry, though the wetness of her tears was lost in the downpour of rain.

“I’m here,” Aziraphale said, hugging her close. “You were sleepwalking, dear—“

She buried her face against his chest. “What am I going to do?” she whimpered.

“Let’s get back to our cabin,” he soothed. “Come along, dear.”

Tanya nodded, and let him lead the way, both of them stumbling back to safety.

“Damn him!” Gabriel cried, watching them. “He rescued her!”

Eric nodded, frowning. “Well, what can you do, sir?” he said. “They want her alive, and all, for the reward.”

Gabriel stroked his chin. “Maybe that’s it,” he said. “Maybe if I wait until they collect their prize, she’ll be alone...”

Eric nodded. “Right! Right, they just have to get to Paris, meet the Dowager—“

“If the Dowager thinks she’s a fake, my work may be done anyway...” Gabriel mused. “All right. We’ll wait until Paris.”

* * *

Paris wasn’t the happiest scene just then, either. Agnes had come to tea at Anathema’s townhouse.

Anathema was close in age to Antonia, another granddaughter of Agnes. Her mother had moved to Paris to marry her father, and Anathema had lived there her whole life, had never seen war-torn Russia, nor its prior splendor. Agnes didn’t have many relatives left and she’d clung to the last ones she could find. It didn’t hurt that Agnes and Anathema were as close to the same person as physically possible, across generations, countries, and genetics.

Thus it was that Agnes indulged Anathema when the younger decided to go on the hunt for Antonia, based on little more than the fact that Antonia had not been present at the secluded house where the rest of the Crowleys had met their fate.

Agnes was fairly certain the young girl must have been kidnapped and killed by revolutionaries after they’d been separated at the train station—and yet. Why had the revolutionaries never bragged of such a victory? Asked for a ransom?

But on the other hand, why had Antonia never come looking for her in Paris, were she alive? Agnes couldn’t puzzle it out.

So at first, Agnes had been curious, and hopeful that something may come of Anathema’s letter-writing and advertisements—Agnes had even offered up a handsome reward, should Antonia be actually returned to her.

She hadn’t expected a parade of redheads to flow through Anathema’s townhome like raging rapids. Agnes was sure she’d met every ginger girl under the age of thirty—some genuine, many assisted with henna—who’d ever been in Paris. Anathema was convinced that her cousin would have to turn up sooner or later, and never wanted to turn any of the impostors away, no matter how obvious the lie.

The one that day had obvious brunette roots, and not even a hint of a Russian accent—“she could’ve lost it over the years, Grandmama!”—and Agnes knew right away she wasn’t Antonia, but she tried to be polite for Anathema’s sake.

“Answer me this,” Agnes said. “How did you get away?”

The girl seemed startled by the question. “I was smuggled,” she said. “I’ve been in hiding!”

“But who hid you?” Agnes pressed. “What happened on that first night of the revolution?”

“I—I—a firefighter took me from the palace!” the girl tried.

Agnes turned to Anathema. “No,” she said. “It’s not her.”

Anathema sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said, though it wasn’t clear if she was speaking to her grandmother or their guest. She cleared her throat and shook her head. “This interview’s over, I’m afraid, thanks so much for checking, but you’re not the woman we’re looking for.” She stood up and offered her hand.

The bewildered woman had no choice but to shake hands and let Anathema show her out.

“Really, Grandmama, I’m sorry,” Anathema said, as she returned to the parlor. “She—she really seemed to know what she was talking about.”

“They all do, dear, because they can study,” Agnes said. “Antonia’s history is easily enough known, other than the night of the revolution.”

Anathema sighed as she sat down. “I suppose the hair was a bit of a giveaway.”

Agnes laughed a little. “Really, dear, I appreciate what you’ve tried to do...but I think we should put an end to it now.”

Anathema looked up with a gasp. “But Grandmama—“

Agnes held up a hand. “No buts. I’m old. I may take care of myself but this is difficult. I can’t keep getting my hopes up and having them dashed. If she was out there surely she would’ve come to me by now.” She sighed, deeply. “No more, Anathema.”

Anathema nodded. “All right. No more.”

* * *

Tanya, Newt, and Aziraphale made it safely to the shores of France, and into Paris. They stopped by a bathhouse and all took the time to clean off the grime of travel and put their best foot forward. Aziraphale was practically giddy in the taxi on the way to Anathema’s house. “Oh, we’ve been corresponding for so long,” he explained. “I’m excited to meet her face-to-face.”

“I thought you had met her,” Tanya said.

Aziraphale shook his head. “No. She’s never left France and I’ve never left Russia.” He sighed. “I’m glad France is beautiful. I won’t be going back.”

Tanya patted his arm sympathetically. “Me either.”

They were all nervous when they pulled up to the townhouse, but Anathema nearly seemed to be expecting them. “Aziraphale! I was afraid you’d never get away,” she said, hugging him, and he kissed both her cheeks.

“It did take rather longer than I expected,” he said. “But I’m safe now. Quite excited to settle in and build up a new library.”

Anathema laughed. “Once you have a place I’ll see if I can spare a few things to get you started. Come in! We’ll have tea! Who are your friends?”

Aziraphale introduced them. “This is Newton Pulsifer, the, ah—agent who helped with my exit visa, and our friend here is Tanya.”

Anathema studied Tanya’s face, and Tanya offered her hand to shake. “Aziraphale, you know she looks just like—“

“We do know, yes,” Aziraphale said. “That’s why she’s here.”

Anathema’s lips tightened, but she led them inside and put the tea on.

Tanya shared her story as they ate the pastries Anathema offered, of coming to the orphanage and not knowing her past.

Anathema listened shrewdly. The dates did line up—but then, the dates were available knowledge. She tried to bear in mind what Agnes had said.

But Tanya looked so much like the portraits. Like John, like Virtue—Anathema could see Agnes herself in that face, despite the plain, shabby dress and lack of jewels. There was simply something noble about her.

Anathema went through a lot of her usual questions. Tanya answered as best she could, though she felt like she missed a few when Anathema asked about the extended family tree—though she also felt a tangible pang when Anathema asked about her siblings.

“And how did you get away?” Anathema asked. “When the palace was under siege?”

Tanya cleared her throat. “Well, I didn’t,” she pointed out. “I was in the orphanage.” She folded her hands in her lap and looked down. “But—“ She frowned and shook her head. It wasn’t something Newt and Aziraphale had told her, but something like a memory surfaced. Was it wrong? She wasn’t sure. “When the fire started...there was a boy, a kitchen boy. And he showed us a hole in the wall, a—a secret door.”

Newt’s hair stood up on end as he turned to look at her. He’d been standing by the fireplace only half listening—he couldn’t help her now—but those words shook him to the core.

It was her.

There was the proof, he and Aziraphale had actually found the real lost Grand Duchess. No one else noticed as he stood there, gape-mouthed, struggling not to drop his teacup.

Tanya rubbed the back of her neck. “I know that must sound crazy...but we got out of the palace.”

Newt couldn’t handle it. He rushed to step outside for a breath of air, unnoticed.

Anathema bit her lip, wondering if Agnes would believe her, if that was the real story. It made a lot more sense than many of the lies she’d heard. She nodded slowly. “And then?”

“We rode off,” Tanya said. “I—I don’t remember exactly. But when I saw the train station in St. Petersburg on the way here, it—it felt familiar. Not in a good way.”

Anathema knew that was where they’d gotten separated. She hesitated, not sure what to say.

“So?” Aziraphale pressed. “Anathema. Is she a Crowley?”

“Well...she did answer every question...” Anathema said.

Tanya inclined her head. Aziraphale’s smile was like the break of dawn. “You’ve done it, my girl!” Aziraphale said. “Oh, I just knew—Anathema, when can we see the Dowager?”

Anathema shook her head. “No—Aziraphale, you can’t,” she said.

“What?” Aziraphale asked, taken aback. “But you just said—“

“Grandmama won’t allow it,” Anathema said. “She—she got tired of all the tricksters and frauds, and said she simply wouldn’t see one more Antonia.”

Tanya sighed. “That’s understandable...” She shook her head, trying to clear it of the strange feeling the name ‘Grandmama’ gave her. Had she heard that before? It felt like a dream.

Aziraphale shook his head. “Oh, come now, my dear, don’t you think she’d feel differently if she could just speak with Tanya for a moment? Surely a clever girl like you could come up with some way for a meeting with her. Just a moment, that’s all Tanya would need.”

Anathema looked helplessly at Tanya, then knitted her brow. “Well...” She smoothed her skirt over her lap. “Do you enjoy the Russian ballet?” she asked. “They’re in town right now. We never miss them, we’re going tonight, Grandmama and I...”

Aziraphale smiled. They’d find the money, if a few tickets were all that stood between them and the Dowager. “Oh! What a coincidence! We told Tanya she really should see the art of our homeland! We have tickets!”

Tanya knew enough to hold her tongue. A lie, but a harmless enough one.

“Newt, did you hear—“ Aziraphale looked over with a frown. “Oh, where’s he got off to? Excuse me.” He stood and went to the door, and saw Newt outside through the window, pacing.

He stepped out onto the stoop. “We’ve done it!” he told Newt. “Anathema believes her, and we’re to see the Dowager tonight! Honestly, she was so convincing _I_ believed her!”

“She’s the princess,” Newt said.

Aziraphale smiled. “I know! She got everything right!”

Newt rubbed at the bridge of his nose, and pushed his glasses back up. “No, no, I mean—I really think we found her. The real Antonia. What she said, she—I—“

He was interrupted by Tanya bursting through the door. “Anathema wants to take us shopping! She said we just have to have good clothes for the ballet! Can you imagine? Shopping in Paris!”


	7. The Russian Ballet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agnes listens to reason. Eventually.

Shopping was actually quite an ordeal, and the men were grateful that Anathema offered to pay for Tanya’s outfit, and fresh touches for their suits—new ties and pocket squares. The tickets took nearly the last of their limited funds.

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever worn,” Tanya told Anathema, in the fitting room. “I’ll treasure this forever.”

Anathema smiled. “You don’t look like a lost kid in this,” she said. “You really do look the part.” Agnes would be scolding her for wasting money on one of the frauds if she knew, but Anathema had a gut feeling telling her to help Tanya.

Tanya let out a sharp bark of a laugh. “I still feel like one!”

Anathema shook her head. “There’s something about you that none of the others have had, no matter how you feel.”

Tanya took a deep breath. “I hope you’re right.”

“I usually am,” Anathema said. “Except when it’s come to finding Antonia. But I feel—something in the air this time. I can’t explain. You’re different.”

Tanya looked back over her shoulder ruefully. “Didn’t you believe the others?”

Anathema smiled. “I _hoped_ at the others. Come on. Get changed, we’ll go have lunch. And, Tanya?”

“Yes?”

Anathema took a deep breath. “I think...no matter what Grandmama says...I’d like to be friends.”

Tanya turned around and hugged her. “Me too,” she said, trying not to get choked up.

* * *

After lunch, the two girls excused themselves to the powder room. Newt had been quiet the whole shopping trip and through the meal, and now he was pensively swirling his glass around, watching the ice clink.

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale asked him. “You’re going to miss her?”

Newt scrubbed a hand through his hair. “No—I—I was trying to tell you...” He sighed. “She’s the princess. That story she told about the hole in the wall? It was a hidden door to the servants’ quarters. I was a servant, I was a kitchen boy for the palace.”

Aziraphale frowned. “So...?”

“So she’s telling the truth,” Newt said. “It’s really her. That’s what really happened.”

“That’s _proof_ ,” Aziraphale said, quietly, eyes going wide.

Newt nodded. “Yeah.”

Aziraphale glanced around. “So that means—“

“Yeah. We thought we were pulling some lofty scam and ended up doing exactly the right thing.” Newt let out a nervous laugh. “What are the odds?”

Aziraphale sighed. “So her grandmother—she’ll go off and live with her. Out of our lives.” He didn’t want to feel a pang of sadness, he should’ve been overjoyed, and relieved about taking the reward money, but he couldn’t help it. He was going to miss her.

He had even less right to do so than he’d thought before. She was a princess, she outranked him by far, and she belonged with the upper crust of the nobility. Aziraphale was just going to be one of the men who’d helped her flee Russia, and that was that.

* * *

After lunch, Anathema took them to see can-can dancers. Tanya was delighted, and both men were left glancing away and blushing. Anathema elbowed Newt playfully—“It’s what we do in Paris!” she told him. “The very latest style!”

That evening, Antonia was silent on the carriage ride to the ballet—she would need to carry herself on unfamiliar tall heels, and not trip over her dress, and, no small challenge, somehow impress an erstwhile empress.

Newt went ahead to scout the situation. Aziraphale checked their coats, and Tanya walked up the stairs in her deep blue gown on his arm, glittering wisps of train flowing behind her like dark comets, a touch of dark eyeshadow making her eyes look even bluer.

Newt stared as she came into view. “My goodness—“

Tanya smiled charmingly. “Even I didn’t know I could look like this,” she said, through painted lips.

“Like the princess you are,” Aziraphale said, patting her arm before letting go.

Tanya blushed softly. “Here’s hoping.”

Newt nodded. “Right. Well. Let’s get our seats.” He led the way in. They didn’t have good seats, they were close to the back—but all the better for getting out quickly, for catching the empress.

Tanya was unsettled. She could see Anathema up in one of the private balconies, next to an older woman. Her grandmother. Their grandmother? Tanya couldn’t get a good look. She could only pray Agnes remembered her.

She twisted her program in her hands, tore at its corners, not even realizing—if she’d been more aware, she would’ve wanted to keep it.

Aziraphale reached over and put a hand over hers in its satin glove. “Calm, my dear,” he whispered.

She smiled over at him. “Right.” She wasn’t lying. She remembered escaping the palace somehow. And if Agnes sent her away, she still had Anathema. And Newt and Aziraphale didn’t seem likely to just abandon her, not after everything they’d been through. It was going to be all right.

When the ballet was over, though, the nerves hit again. “Look, Newt, Aziraphale...”

“Yes?” Newt asked.

Tanya looked helplessly between them. “Look—just—we’ve all been through a lot, and—no matter what happens with her, just—thank you. I’ve got a much better chance here than I would have in Russia, and—this has been—meant a lot to me, just—“ She was stalling, and she knew it, but the words wouldn’t stop.

“It’s all right to be nervous,” Aziraphale said. “She’ll know you just as the rest of us have. Come along, dear.”

Tanya took a deep breath and nodded. How did he always do that? Calm her as if he could fix everything?

Newt led the way up towards the balcony entrances. “I’ll announce you,” he said.

Anathema opened the door to the balcony and waved him closer. He approached and told her with as much authority as he could muster, “Please inform the Dowager that I’ve found the Grand Duchess Antonia, and she’s waiting just outside.”

Anathema gave him a wry smile. “Young man, the Dowager will see no one—“

Agnes had just gathered her things, and she shook her head, anger welling in her proud eyes. “I have seen enough Antonias for two lifetimes, and I would like to live the rest of this one in peace,” she spat.

Anathema bit her lip. “Oh—she’s mad,” she whispered. “Try again at the door.” She moved to lower the curtain that cordoned off the balcony from the door, but Newt moved past her, blew right by and took the seat next to Agnes.

“Your majesty, I mean no harm and no disrespect, but you’ve got to listen to me,” he said. He never would have had the courage if Tanya wasn’t the real deal, but he was fueled by the passion of truth. “I know a great deal of people have come for the money, but this time it’s real. I’ve found the real Grand Duchess—my name is Newt, Newton Pulsfier, and I used to work in the palace—“

Agnes scoffed. “That’s a new story, at least, but it’s still a story. I’m not interested in meeting some girl you’ve drilled some manners into. I’ve met them all and it’s never my granddaughter.”

Tanya lifted her hands to cover her mouth, muffle her gasp. They’d done that. They’d taught her royal manners, and for what? To anger some poor old woman? Take her money?

“One of them has to be your granddaughter,” Newt protested. “Just listen to me, I have proof—”

“I’m sure you do,” Agnes said. “It’s all been faked before, identification documents, trinkets and tokens supposedly taken from the palace...I don’t care.” She pulled on a rope that disappeared into the ceiling, which alerted her guards. “Pulsifer, did you say? I’ve heard of you. You’ve made quite a living forging documents. And I heard you were holding auditions for Antonia in St. Petersburg.”

Outside, Tanya started to tear up, but held a stiff upper lip.

Newt shook his head. “We came all the way from Russia, and it was more of an ordeal than you can realize, we survived a train crash, and stormy seas—”

Agnes stood as her guards came in. “How much pain will you inflict on an old woman for money?” she snapped. “Remove him.”

The guards dragged Newt out. Anathema gave him a sympathetic look as he was unceremoniously tossed into the hall, and closed the door behind the guards.

If nothing else proved that Tanya was the missing princess, the fire in her eyes was exactly like her grandmother’s when Newt looked up at her. He got up and dusted himself off.

“You were lying the whole time,” Tanya said, voice all the scarier for how quiet she was.

Newt took a deep breath. “Well—no,” he said. “I—Aziraphale and I, we—we started, we both wanted out of Russia and—it would’ve paid for us—but then we got lucky, so lucky, and you really are—”

“I can’t believe you’re still trying to feed me that line!” Tanya snapped.

“But—today you told Anathema—what you said about the wall opening up—that was—”

Tanya shook her head. “Don’t you talk to me about what I said,” she told him, and started to stalk away. He reached out to grab hold of her arm, and at the touch she turned around and slapped him hard across the face. She took off while he stood rubbing the sting out of his cheek, staring after her.

* * *

Newt couldn’t find Aziraphale, either, in the chaos of the lobby, and he had to go somewhere, so he went outside, hoping one of the two would see him on the steps before they could get too far.

The Dowager emerged not far behind him, escorted by a guard, and then a chauffeur took over to help her into the back of her car.

The window was brief, but Newt took it. Once Agnes was in the car, he slipped into the front seat and yanked the car away from the curb, speeding off.

“Ilya! Slow down!” Agnes protested. “What are you doing?”

Newt looked back at her. “I’m not Ilya, but I just need you to listen for five minutes!” he insisted. It wasn’t far to Anathema’s townhouse and he headed that way. He pulled up to the front with a screech, and came around the car to open the back door. “Just talk to her! She’s not—she’s a lonely girl who wants to find her family, and all that’s left of that is you. You’ll know as soon as you see her, and if I’m wrong, she’ll move on. But I’m not wrong, Majesty.”

“I won’t put up with this a moment longer,” Agnes insisted, and she slid across to open the car’s other door, she could go inside to Anathema.

Newt fished in his pocket and pulled out the music box. “Do you recognize this?”

Now he had her attention.

Agnes gasped and took it. “Where did you get this?” she asked.

Newt gave her a look. “I told you. I worked in the palace. And when the fire started, I helped you get away. You and Antonia. I went back to get this for her and then—well, it was chaos.”

Agnes narrowed her eyes. “Newton.” She searched his face. Who could remember a kitchen boy from a decade ago? Had she ever known his face that well? How much would it have changed in all that time? But he knew the true story, at least.

He nodded. “Yes. And you—you were right, I was holding auditions. But your real granddaughter turned up, looking to leave Russia and search for her family. I recognized her plain as day, she looks just like the czar and czarina. She’s been just as lost and alone as you, she—she lost her memory. It became a mission to bring her to you. Now come inside, talk to her.”

Agnes sighed heavily. “I’ve been burned so many times.”

Newton offered her a hand. “Not this time.”


	8. The Dowager's Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tanya finds her true heritage.

Inside, upstairs, in the guest room, Tanya was packing. She wasn’t sure where she was going to go, but she needed something to do, and she couldn’t take advantage of Anathema’s kindness forever.

There was a knock at the door and she let out an anguished, frustrated groan. “Leave me alone, Newt!”

The door opened anyway. It was Agnes who poked her head in.

Tanya lifted her hand to her lips. “Oh—oh, I’m sorry, I—” She rushed over to open the door the rest of the way. “I thought you were someone else.”

Agnes gave her a rueful laugh. “I know who you thought I was.” Tanya took a step back, and Agnes came in and walked a circle around her. She could see it all in Tanya’s face, the family resemblance, flickers of so many relatives, many now lost. “I suppose the question is who you are.”

Tanya sighed. “I wish I knew,” she said. “When I was eight years old I was put in an orphanage because I couldn’t remember who I was. They helped me choose the name Tanya but that’s never completely felt right. This—this was the day after Gabriel set fire to the palace.”

“I see,” Agnes said, still suspicious. “That seems convenient. But I’m old, dear, and no matter how convincing you are, I’m tired of this charade happening over and over.”

“I honestly don’t know if you’re my grandmother,” Tanya said. “But everyone else thinks so, and I just needed to be sure. I had hoped you'd recognize me right away.” She sighed deeply.

“And the money?” Agnes pressed.

“Wouldn’t that go to Newt and Aziraphale anyway?” Tanya asked. “I don’t care about money, I just don’t want to be alone in this world.”

Agnes wanted to believe, but it just wasn’t enough. She shook her head and turned to leave, whisking closely past Tanya. “You’re the best one yet, Newton did very well,” she said. “But I’m afraid—”

“Peppermint?” Tanya interrupted.

Agnes frowned at the lapse in etiquette. “Yes, it’s an oil,” she said. “I use it for the pain in my hands.”

Tanya closed her eyes. The scent had brought up the most visceral memory she’d had of her childhood since she’d turned up at the orphanage. “I spilled a bottle of it,” she said. “All over your vanity and the rug.”

Agnes put a hand over her heart.

Tanya looked over at her, the memories spilling over like a floodgate. “The rug smelled like peppermint forever after. The washing girls never could get it out, no matter how hard they scrubbed! And when you were gone—here in Paris—I’d sneak into your room and lie on the rug and smell it and pretend you were getting ready right there at the vanity!” She gasped, and lifted the chain from around her neck, over her head. “You gave me this!”

Together in Paris.

Tanya let the charm dangle, and Agnes put her hand behind it, to take a better look. She let go after a moment to open her purse, and she pulled out the music box. “Do you remember this?”

Tanya tipped her head. “Newt had it—” Her eyes went wide. “That night! You—” She took the music box and slipped the charm of her necklace in, and wound it up. The tinkling melody began to play, and as suddenly as the peppermint had brought back the memory of living in the palace, she found she knew the words to the tune. “On the wind, cross the sea...”

“Antonia,” Agnes said, tears coming to her eyes, and Antonia, indeed, put the music box and the key on the vanity to hug her tightly.

“Grandmama,” she said, starting to cry, too.

* * *

“Damn it all!” Gabriel kicked his foot, and Eric had to scramble to get away. “I didn’t think they were going to pull it off!”

“Well, it is her, sir,” Eric said. “It wasn’t a trick, or you wouldn’t be alive.”

“I’m _not_ alive!” Gabriel bellowed. “This is no life.” He shook his head. “Well. Come. We’re going to a party. Brush out my hair, find me some cologne to cover the smell of death.”

Eric grinned. “A party?”

“Yes, of course—they’ll want to celebrate her return, introduce her formally to the high society,” Gabriel said.

Eric liked the sound of that, music and dancing and much better food. “Oh, yes, of course...”

“It’ll be quite the ball to remember,” Gabriel said. “Especially once I kill her.”

Eric frowned. “But she found her family. She won’t rule, can’t we just—”

“Crush her right at the moment of triumph!” Gabriel said, smile turning into a leer.

* * *

Agnes took Antonia home with her that very night, and they were up late looking over all the mementos Agnes had. With the reminders of her childhood, Antonia felt all her pieces falling into place. She remembered her siblings and her parents, all the things Newt and Aziraphale had told her about her childhood. She wasn’t scamming anyone at all, this was really her home and her family.

“Your laugh is just like John’s,” Agnes told her. “And you, like all your older sisters, are as beautiful as my Virtue was at your age. This belonged to her once.” She set a tiara on Antonia’s head, and gave her a hand mirror.

Even in pajamas, with the jewels in her hair, Antonia could see herself as the princess she’d been born to be. She was thankful she’d never have to reign over a country, to lead people and make decisions, but she saw now what Aziraphale had said he’d seen in her, the regality that had felt so elusive.

* * *

The next few days were a flurry of activity as Agnes planned a ball, intending to show Antonia off to the upper crust of Paris. Aziraphale came by, but Antonia missed him as she was being fitted for a new wardrobe. Anathema was around fairly frequently, though, and Antonia found she loved having a cousin—while her sisters could never be replaced, Antonia took a lot of comfort in getting closer to her.

Newt turned up the day of the grand ball, by Agnes’s summoning. She tried to pay him the reward money, but he refused most of it. “I don’t need it,” he insisted. “A tenth of what you’re offering is more than I could ever spend. I’m just glad to have made you and Miss Device so happy.”

Antonia smiled to see him on his way out. “Thank you, again,” she said. “I—I know everything turned out—so differently than we all thought. But you did save my life once, and you did the right thing now.”

Newt rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, yeah,” he said. “Sort of stumbled into it, really, but I’m glad it worked out for all of us.”

Antonia grinned. “It did, it did. Don’t be a stranger, all right?”

Newt nodded. “I won’t,” he said. “You were right. I’ve decided to make Paris my home after all.”

A servant came and bowed to Antonia before interrupting. “Your Grace, the Dowager requests your presence.”

Newt bowed to her, too. “I’ll let you go, I know your big party is tonight.”

Antonia smiled. “Yes. Thank you. I’ll see you soon, hopefully.”

Before he left, Newt found Aziraphale preparing for the gala, with Dog sniffing around his feet. “Will you be in attendance tonight, dear boy?” Aziraphale asked.

Newt shook his head. “No—no, I just came today because the Dowager asked, but I don’t think I’m invited to palace parties yet.”

Aziraphale smiled at him. “Well, you know, when I’ve gotten set up you’ll be invited to all of mine.” His title had been confirmed by the Dowager and he was granted his rightful funds and property. He was staying in a nearby hotel until a house could be cleaned and readied for him to take residence.

Newt laughed. “Well, I’m not so sure it’s really my scene, but I’ll try it out,” he promised. “Have a good time tonight.”

Aziraphale sighed a little. “It will be glorious, seeing her debut,” he mused, but he couldn’t quite hide the undertone of sadness—Antonia would be out of range forever after the ball. “Quite triumphant to know the entire line wasn’t lost.”

Newt nodded. “Good for her. I’ll see you tomorrow?” he said.

“Yes. I’ll call you,” Aziraphale agreed. He had a feeling he’d be sleeping late.

Newt headed for the door. “Right. Bye then!”


	9. The Palace Gardens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel seeks revenge.

That night, Antonia paced the floor in a private room as the guests trickled into the grand ballroom. The nerves had hit her again, butterflies swarming through her whole body. She peeked out from behind a curtain to look at everyone who was there to see her, and the only thing that calmed her down was spotting Anathema and Aziraphale in the crowd—someone she could talk to without feeling like a fool. She’d had royal advisors training her even more deeply in etiquette all week long, but still she was afraid she was going to embarrass her Grandmama. She was so happy to have her back in her life—the more time they spent together, more of her memories returned to her—but it was a new connection at the same time, still fragile, still growing. The roots were barely sprouted, and Antonia wasn’t sure how much they could weather.

“Nervous?” Agnes asked, from the shadows, and Antonia’s startled jump was answer enough.

“I’m not sure I’m ready,” Antonia admitted. “I’m not sure I’ll ever really be ready to play princess for them.”

“It isn’t playing,” Agnes said. “You’re as much princess as I was. And your mother.”

Antonia smiled. “I’m not prepared like you,” she said. “I skipped a whole decade of princess lessons,” she joked.

Agnes laughed. “Well, my dear...the choice is yours. I didn’t want you back to make you play-act at something you’re not.” She shook her head. “There isn’t a nation to rule, either. If this is too much—if you’d prefer a role in between, like your cousin, less formal—or no spotlight at all...no matter what you desire, dear, we’ve found each other! You will always be welcome and cared for. There will be a seat at the table for you no matter what you want.” She pulled Antonia close and hugged her tightly. “My happiness would not be complete if yours wasn’t.”

Antonia sniffled as tears sprang to her eyes. “Oh, I love you, Grandmama...could...could I have just a moment to myself?” she asked.

Agnes pulled back and stroked her cheek. “Of course, my dear,” she said. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Antonia nodded. Once Agnes had left the room, she began to pace again. What did she want? She’d found what she was looking for, but still—something wasn’t settled. It didn’t feel like a missing piece so much as unfinished business.

Dog got up from his cushion in the corner to follow her in her small circle, then sniffed the air and ran over to nose at the door to the garden. He got her attention with a soft yip, and she came over to let him out, thinking he just needed to go do his business like normal. However, once he’d run outside, he looked back and barked insistently.

Antonia frowned, but she hiked up her skirts in one hand and followed him outside.

Out in the garden, the heady smell of roses was accompanied by an odd, almost hypnotic hissing. “What is that?” Antonia asked Dog, and he scampered away, following the sound right through the hedge. She groaned and chased after him, trying to keep her dress clean for when she went back to the dinner.

Dog led her right to the edge of the mansion grounds, and the hissing only got louder. She caught up and bent to pick Dog up, only to be startled by a figure emerging from suddenly foggy shadows at the end of a bridge.

“Look what ten years has done to us, your grace,” Gabriel said, coldly. He had his reliquary in hand, glowing softly. 

Antonia left Dog on the ground and rose to her full height, frowning, as queenly as if she’d lived it her whole life. “I know you.”

“You’re a perfect young flower, and I’m falling to bits,” Gabriel told her. “But not for much longer.”

Antonia gasped as she recognized him as the man attacking her father on the last night at the palace—the man who’d set the devastating fire. “The Crowley curse! Gabriel! It was you!” She flashed back vividly to her nightmare on the boat. “And—and the train!”

Gabriel swung the reliquary with a menacing laugh, and his minions materialized out of the smoke that poured forth. “Yes! That was us! But you just couldn’t shut your stupid mouth and die!” The tiny demons zoomed across the bridge, and the carvings on it turned ugly, grotesque, morphing into the most hideous gargoyles.

“Never!” Antonia stamped a foot. Dog stood in front of her and growled at the monster Gabriel had become.

“It was a night like this,” Gabriel said. “A party where I wasn’t welcome—and it ended with everyone on the ice, do you remember?” He waved his arm and ice crackled forth from his hand, spreading across the bridge, freezing the water beneath them.

Antonia fell to her knees on her flimsy, high-heeled shoes. She struggled to get up with her heavy skirts, but she stood on her own two feet again. “I remember you drowning!” she bellowed. “And I’m not a little girl anymore, you don’t scare me!” Maybe that wasn’t true, but she’d been doing scary things for nearly a month and she always came out on top.

Eric looked up at Gabriel. “She looks serious, boss—“

Gabriel snarled at him and slapped him, before waving his lesser minions to rush Antonia.

Eric shook his head, holding his cheek. “I quit!” He jumped onto the sheet of ice and slid away from the fray. “This doesn’t end well for you!” He got to the end of the ice and ran off into the night.

Gabriel didn’t seem to care, so close to his victory. Who needed followers with the end of the mission in sight? The tiny demons had Antonia surrounded, her back pressed to the bridge’s railings as they swarmed, tearing at her gown. One swooped in and knocked her tiara from her hair.

Still, she fought, swatting at them, screaming, keeping upright by sheer force of will. Each one she hit turned into a puff of ash at the touch of her hand.

Gabriel blasted the bridge again, and it cracked in the middle, stones falling into the now-frigid waters below. Antonia tried to make her way off the bridge as quickly as she could, still pestered by the tiny demons, sliding around and unable to catch grip with ice everywhere.

“Oh, give it up, Antonia,” Gabriel said. “Care to take a swim, your grace? You might as well surrender, nobody’s coming for you!”

And then there was a voice behind Gabriel. “Think again, you bastard!”

Antonia looked over just in time to see Aziraphale punching Gabriel square in the jaw. Gabriel’s head went flying and Antonia gagged at the sight. Gabriel’s body went running to pick the head up and put it back, and only then did Antonia and Aziraphale realize they were dealing with something supernatural, even beyond Gabriel’s use of magic.

Gabriel growled at Aziraphale, and he pointed the reliquary at the largest of the statues carved along the bridge, a tribute to Pegasus, winged horse of legend—only now its eyes glowed red, and it looked absolutely feral. The stone creature came to life with a flap of its wings and rose up on hind legs to chase after Aziraphale. Antonia gasped and started to chase after him, too, but Gabriel blasted the bridge again, and the center began to crumble. Each side started to collapse, and Antonia found herself grasping at the side rails to keep from falling into the water.

Aziraphale ran to her side, slipping on the ice, but he was there to pull her up onto the flat ground again. She stared at him with wide eyes. “I have so many questions—just—remind me later, to thank you—“

He shook his head. “Worry about Gabriel,” he said.

It was solid advice. The winged horse came for him again. Aziraphale raised his arms to fight off the statue, and Gabriel sent another blast his way—his demonic minions again, sweeping him off his feet and up onto the horse’s back. Pegasus took off, and Aziraphale grabbed on around its neck, gripping for dear life as they went into the air.

“No!” Antonia screamed. “Aziraphale!”

The statue reared and bucked, twisting and thrashing, and Aziraphale did his best to hang on, but the statue managed to throw him, and he went tumbling to the ground.

Antonia covered her mouth as she gasped and started to cry, but she couldn’t even go to him, not while Gabriel was still there to contend with.

Pegasus landed and reared over him, front hooves clawing the air like he was going to trample Aziraphale, but with a heaving effort Aziraphale rolled out of the way. He was too close to the bridge, though, and slid down an icy incline where there was still danger of falling into the waters below.

Antonia had advanced on Gabriel, and was trying to get hold of the reliquary, realizing it was the source of his power. She’d seen him using it, she remembered him casting fire out of it to burn down her childhood home. It had to be the only thing keeping him alive, and it had to be why he hadn’t fully drowned a decade before.

Gabriel snarled in Antonia’s face as they wrestled, and he knocked her over the edge, too, down onto a precarious ledge. She scrambled and managed to find her grip on the stone, in a crack in the ice.

Gabriel raised the reliquary to blast her, to knock her into the water, but suddenly he let out a howl of pain—Dog had bitten his ankle hard enough to draw blood, or at least the inky ichor that had taken its place. Dog yapped at Gabriel and growled, and Gabriel tried to kick him.

It was just enough of a distraction for Antonia to find another way up, to climb and get back on solid footing and fade into the fog.

Gabriel turned back to see her gone, and assumed she’d fallen into the rushing waters. “Ha! That’s the last of that accursed family!”

Aziraphale scrambled down where Antonia had been, thinking maybe she was even further down, not dead yet, that he could help, but the Pegasus statue came after him again, swooping close, and tried to knock him into the water. Aziraphale grasped onto its reins, refusing to let that happen, and when the statue realized he wouldn’t let go, it took flight again.

Gabriel laughed maniacally. “Long live the Crowleys!” he sneered, sarcastically.

“Oh, I couldn’t have said it better,” Antonia said, from behind him, materializing from the fog. She charged him and knocked him down, and they slid together along the ice. She fought for the reliquary, slamming his arm down against the ice, popping his hand free. She almost had it, but he held it out of her grasp with his good hand—until Dog leapt in and grabbed it in his teeth.

“Good boy!” Antonia cheered.

As she said it, all of Gabriel’s minions dissipated to smoke. “Nooo!” Gabriel cried, scrambling for the reliquary, but Dog was out of reach and Antonia kept him pinned down.

She looked back, trying to find Aziraphale—the Pegasus was gone, and she saw Aziraphale lying on the ground, still, not even watching, and a cold crept over her. It wasn’t fair, she had never asked for him to defend her to the death, never asked him to do anything for her, and he’d been so unbelievably kind and encouraging every step of the way.

She took in a deep breath, and it was absolute fury that fueled her rise to her feet, one heel crushing Gabriel’s chest. He howled in pain as she kicked off of him.

Dog brought her the reliquary. She stepped away from Gabriel and the ice, onto the stones. “This is for Aziraphale!” She hurled the reliquary to the ground with all her might. The glass cracked, the shatter pattern webbing across it, and Gabriel tried to crawl after her, reaching for it, groaning. It glowed brighter as she stomped on it. “And for the family you stole from me!”

“Nooo...” Gabriel cried, weakly.

“And this. This is for me,” she said, and ground her heel into the glass, the reliquary bursting open. She stepped back and grabbed Dog as much bigger demons than Gabriel’s minions poured out from the glass prison and swarmed him.

They hauled him to his feet and his sallow, green skin started to melt away, blowing away as ash, despite his frantic cries. Once his flesh was gone, only a mouldering skeleton remained, and then even that quickly dried out and shattered, every bit disappearing on the wind that calmed as soon as he was gone.

Antonia watched until there was nothing left. She’d broken the Crowley curse. She’d saved herself—not without help, of course, but she’d defeated him. The future was hers.

She put Dog down and took a deep breath, and turned to run to Aziraphale. She knelt beside him and stroked his cheek. “Oh, Aziraphale...” she murmured, tears springing to her eyes. “No...” The guilt was overwhelming, he’d been trying to help her and he’d gotten himself killed for his troubles. How would she ever explain, to Newt, to Anathema, to her grandmother?

How was she supposed to live without him?

She bent her head as she started crying in earnest.

Dog came closer to snuggle to her leg, to try and comfort her, and she buried a hand in his fur.

Antonia wasn’t even sure what to do. She needed someone, anyone, to come and help, but she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Aziraphale all alone on the cobblestones to get cold—

And just as she wished she wasn’t alone, Aziraphale started to cough.

“Aziraphale!” she cried out, and hauled him up into a hug. “Oh, I thought you were dead! You gave me such a fright!”

Aziraphale rubbed her back softly. “Gently, my dear, or I might be, yet,” he murmured. “I think I’m lucky not to have broken anything...but it seems I’m all right.”

Antonia pulled back to cup his face and study his pale blue eyes. “How did you even know to come save me?”

He laughed. “You saved yourself,” he said. “Your grandmother asked me to check if you’d decided to come to dinner.” He glanced back towards the broken bridge and the ice. “I daresay you had more important things to handle.”

Dog ran away from them to go sniffing around, still not sure what to make of all the ice.

Antonia smiled. “The curse is broken,” she said. “I—Gabriel—” She shook her head. “It’s all over. And you’re supposed to remind me of something.”

Aziraphale returned the smile. “You never did have a very good memory,” he joked. “You wanted to thank me, but I promise, dear, it isn’t necessary.”

“It is, though,” she said. “Not just for the rescue now, but—for believing in me. Bringing me here, pushing me so hard to try. I have my family back because of you. Thank you.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Well, you’re welcome, and you should be getting back to them,” he pointed out. Dog ran back over to her, carrying her tiara from the wreckage, and he dropped it in her lap.

Antonia stared at the jewels for a moment, weighing her choice in her mind again.

Aziraphale stood, and she didn’t even have to look to know he was offering a hand. She took it and got to her feet, and Aziraphale took the tiara from her to put it on her head. “There we are, your grace,” he said, not commenting on her disheveled hair or the tattered gown beneath it.

“Maybe,” she said, breathlessly, and they stared at each other for a long moment. “You know, Aziraphale...I found my family, but...there’s not very much of it left. And I don’t want to lose anyone I’m close to.”

Aziraphale tipped his head. “Right, of course not,” he agreed.

“You’ve been an absolute angel,” Antonia said. “And—well...” She grabbed his lapels and went for a kiss, pressing her lips to his.

Aziraphale was stunned, and it took him a solid second to close his eyes, to put his hands on her arms, to kiss her back. He whimpered softly before she pulled back, breathlessly.

“My dear,” he whispered.

She practically smirked. “Yes. Yours.”

“I—I thought you liked Newt,” Aziraphale told her.

Antonia covered her mouth with both hands to muffle her shriek of laughter. “Newt? _Newt_?! No!” she said, shaking her head hard enough that more of her hair tumbled loose. “I mean—he’s all right, but—no!” She couldn’t stop laughing, and maybe it was partly the joy of having her feelings returned. “He’s—he’s not sweet and bookish and—and—oh, he’s not the type for me at all, angel.”

Aziraphale blushed brightly. “And what, you want a stodgy professor type nearly ten years your senior?”

Antonia smiled. “Yes, actually! I think you’re perfect!” She leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. “Besides, even if I did fancy Newt...he’s been staying with Anathema. I went over to pick her up to help me choose new clothes and he was there at the breakfast table, in her pink silk robe.”

Aziraphale gasped. “Oh—oh my—”

Antonia nodded. “So I think it’s safe to say he’s spoken for. And that’s just fine, because it’s you I want, angel.” She slid her arms around Aziraphale’s neck for another kiss. He tangled his fingers in her hair, caressing the back of her neck, sliding his other arm around her. She melted against him, and it was everything she ever could’ve dreamed of. It was quite easy, actually, imagining him at her side at state dinners, conversing with her grandmother, dancing with her—

Aziraphale pulled back suddenly. “They’re waiting for you—“

Antonia shook her head. “Grandmama said...I could think it over. I don’t have to—take my title. I’d always be welcome as her granddaughter. I never wanted to be a princess, I just wanted a family. I can do whatever I like now and I don’t want to go back to that party tonight...”

Aziraphale nodded slowly. “Well, either way...it’s hardly proper for me to be standing here kissing you, with no chaperone, without your grandmother’s blessing—“

“She likes you,” Antonia said. “No need to be nervous about that.”

“Still, darling—“ And oh, the thrill the name sent through her— “We can’t just...”

Antonia put a finger to his lips. “You want things to be proper, then?” She smiled. “Then let’s just make things official. Run off with me?” She lifted her finger and he smiled in return.  
  
“Run off?” he asked. “We’d come back, right?”

She nodded. “Of course, I’m not leaving my grandmama and my cousin forever when I’ve just found them. But I think I can sneak off for a honeymoon.”

Aziraphale nodded, smile lighting up the night. “Right...let’s run off, then.”


	10. Ferryboat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happily ever after.

“I suppose I’m not surprised that Antonia didn’t want to make her debut, but I didn’t think she’d just skip the party entirely,” Agnes said to Anathema, once the last of the party guests had left. “And wherever did Baron Fell get off to? I know he was here, I sent him after her!”

It was Anathema who found the note, tucked into the box beside the tiara.

“Oh, Grandmama—“ She grinned and read the note aloud. “ _Aziraphale and I grew quite close on the journey from Russia and we’ve decided to get married. Wish me luck. Don’t worry, I’ll be back right after our honeymoon._ ” Anathema squealed happily. “Oh, they’ve eloped! What a perfect ending!”

Agnes smiled wide. “No, dear, for Antonia it’s a perfect beginning.”

* * *

Antonia and Aziraphale had sneaked into Agnes’s mansion to each hurriedly change into clothes not soiled by their battle, and pack a quick getaway bag. Traveling was a lot easier without a tight budget, and with real passports. It had taken a bit of doing to find a minister on short notice, but they’d gotten married without fuss and without rings in the office in his house, and then boarded a boat to cruise through the rivers of France for a week.

“We can drive home,” Antonia mused, as they searched for their cabin. “I’ve always wanted to learn to drive a car.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Of course, darling, I don’t know how, but it can’t be that hard if Newt can do it,” he mused.

Antonia laughed. “Be nice! He might be our cousin-in-law someday!” she pointed out. “Anathema Pulsifer, can you imagine?”

“It doesn’t have quite the ring of Antonia Fell,” Aziraphale said, smiling fondly at her.

Antonia shivered at the sound of it. She’d barely gotten used to even knowing her real name and she’d gone and changed it. “I do like that,” she said, as they stopped in front of their door.

Aziraphale let them in with the key, and put their bags atop the dresser inside. “You know, when we were on the other boat...you were brushing your hair, dear, and you were so beautiful...I wanted you then but I never dreamed...”

Antonia took off her coat, hung it up, and came over to Aziraphale, sliding her arms around him. “You don’t have to dream, I’m right here,” she murmured. “I’m your wife now.” She nudged at his coat, too, and he obligingly slipped it off to toss it on top of their bags. She reached back where she’d hastily pinned up her hair, took out the pins, and let her hair cascade around her shoulders. “You can look and touch and—and it’s all for you, angel, I’m all yours.”

Aziraphale kissed her softly, and then on second thought, kissed her with fiery passion, making her whimper in his embrace, making her lean in and cling to him while he threaded a hand into her flaming hair. Aziraphale never would’ve asked her for this, but Antonia was anything but shy, thankfully. She knew what she wanted, and he felt lucky that somehow she wanted him.

Even so, she was a little dazed when he pulled back, and she smiled up at him. “You know...I’ve never really been to a wedding, but I think we’re supposed to do a lot more of that. All night.”

Aziraphale bent and scooped her, bridal-style, into his arms. “Happily.” He kissed her again and carried her to the bed.

“Ever after?” she asked.

“Just like every princess deserves,” he assured her.


End file.
